


Psychobabble all Upon Your Lips

by Zerrah



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 12:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21054047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrah/pseuds/Zerrah
Summary: “Choose me…” Frollo leaned forward, the light casting shadows across his face. He looked like a demon, ready to drag her down to hell. “Or the fire!”





	Psychobabble all Upon Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Head the warning/tags people. Please. More dubcon than noncon but tagging noncon just to be safe.
> 
> Title is from the beautiful line, "I can see you burning with desire for a kiss, psychobabble all upon your lips" from the song 'Tiger Lily' by La Roux. The lyrics are interesting; the song either about a powerful woman playing hard to get, or a stalker in denial over their love's rejection. 
> 
> I'm...not sure why I wrote this. Frollo is pretty irredeemable. But he's a complex character, my favorite Disney villain, and the axis of his world shifts from God/the church to Esmeralda in the most passionate and unhealthy way. May God have mercy on me. *signs the cross*

Frollo waved the torch in front of her, the flames so close a few sparks floated in the air, singing the ends of her hair. Esmeralda wrinkled her nose at the awful smell. She was bound to the pyre, trying valiantly to push down terror that caused every one of her hairs to stand on ends. 

“Choose me…” Frollo leaned forward, the light casting shadows across his face. He looked like a demon, ready to drag her down to hell. “Or the fire!”

His voice dropped an octave, so that the next words wouldn’t reach the horde watching them. “Choose the path of salvation, marry me, or you will _all_ burn.”

Oh, how tempting it would be to spit in his face. To wipe away that hateful, arrogant smile. But despite all the terrible things that Frollo and his ilk said about her people, she was smart, honorable, and had a good heart. This wasn’t just about her. She had to consider everyone.

“I...I…” she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Yes?” came the silky reply. She could hear the smirk in his voice.

Her head hung in defeat before the words left her mouth. “I choose you.” _And my people._

A soft chuckle. “I knew that you would eventually _see the light_, my dear. I’m certain you will be redeemed with some...direction.” The last word spoken with smug satisfaction dripping from each syllable. 

Direction. Esmeralda would have laughed if her throat wasn’t suddenly so dry, her diaphragm frozen with fear. She knew exactly the kind of ‘direction’ he wanted to give her. 

“How _generous_ of you,” she whispered, glaring at him with all the bitterness and anger she felt in her heart. That only made him laugh harder. 

He turned to the crowd, taking the warmth with him, and Esmeralda shivered. She could hear her bones rattling. His shadow stretched out behind him, casting her in its net. 

“This witch has chosen to repent and devote herself, soul, mind, and _body_,” the last word was stressed with a sneer, “to atonement. And God is ever merciful.” Esmeralda glared at the back of his ridiculous cap. What did his God have to do with his persecution of her and her people, let alone his disgusting demand? He dropped the torch to the muddy earth, and she felt somewhat eased as the patter of raindrops caused the flames to fizzle out. 

There were both cries of celebration for a sinner redeemed, and jeers from those who had wanted to watch her burn. Frollo gestured to her and told the guards, “untie her and take her to...my chambers. For safekeeping. Lock the doors so she doesn’t escape.” He glared back at her as if expecting her to defy him, despite the fact that she was still tied to a stake and could barely move. 

Esmeralda wanted to yell at him, scream about the injustice of it all. Instead, she felt the burn of tears collecting behind her eyes, and looked away, feeling defeated. What kind of decision had she made? Death would probably have been the better option. But watching her people set free, ropes cut and cages unlocked, the joyful spark in their eyes, she wanted to believe that accepting Frollo’s offer was worth it. 

Was it?

***

“Ah, I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,” he said with a malicious smirk. 

“I...didn’t really have a choice,’ Esmeralda replied sullenly. An ornate knot that she was unable to undo with her fingers or teeth-- at least, not in the time it took for Frollo to come up to his chambers--bound her wrists together, connected to a rope about a foot long tethered to the bedpost. She had initially stood in defiance, but in the dark room time seemed to slow down, and she eventually collapsed to the bed. She was so exhausted. Her mind drifted back to the pyre over and over again, with the grim knowledge that she would be dead now if she hadn’t agreed with Frollo’s...request.

“Why did you do this?” Esmeralda shook her head as Frollo stalked closer. “You’ve called me a sorceress, heathen, witch. Why not pick another woman who actually wants to marry you? You...you tried to bribe my own people against me…” Her eyes slid shut, a pain blossoming behind them as she remembered how he tried to ply them with coin in exchange for her whereabouts. 

His hand crept to the back of her neck, deceptively gentle at first, before locking her in a firm grip. Again, that sinister smile. _He knows he won,_ an unhelpful voice explained, causing her stomach to turn. 

“Come now, my dear. I understand that you can’t _help_ what you are. Heathen, twisting the thoughts of pious men, casting sorcery to entrap them to your will.” Esmeralda wrinkled her nose as his fingers trailed through her hair. Frollo’s gaze fixed on the strands as if they were fascinating. “Only a devout, Christian path can save you.” 

“And what does devotion have to do with this?!” She held up her bound wrists. 

Frollo waived his hand dismissively. “To protect myself. In the beginning, at least. I’m sure you’ll eventually come around.” 

“And...what if I never do?”

Frollo smiled again, his expression darkening. “Then I suppose I’ll have to enforce some discipline in our marriage. This is a sacred union, after all, and you will promise to obey me.” His eyes flitted over her form. 

Her fingers curled around the rope that bound her hands, in anger and anxiety in equal measure. He chuckled, throaty and low, and tugged the rope connecting to the footboard until she was on her feet before him.

“I’ve been waiting for this for far too long,” he whispered. Esmeralda frowned, her stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots. He had talked so much about destroying the gypsies and smiting her that she had no idea how long he had been supposedly waiting for ‘this’. He stroked her cheek, his voice filled with awe and triumph. “You are absolutely exquisite, my gypsy witch. More beautiful than any mortal girl who walks the Earth. And I finally have you.” Then, he kissed her. 

She froze, in enough shock that she didn’t resist when he tangled her fingers with his own. His lips were firm and rigid, like the rest of him. Still, as his lips moved, he moaned into the kiss, obviously savoring it. An uncomfortable warmth spread through her, jolting into a spark when he tugged her waist so that she was pressed against his chest. The pleasure she felt both surprised and then disgusted her more than his contact, and shoved him away with her bound hands. 

Frollo blinked in surprise, then scowled. “Remember your promise, gypsy,” he hissed, pulling her to him again in a vice-like grip. “I have no qualms about sacrificing you and those other vermin. You will not_ resist me _again.”

“I...well…” Her bare feet shifted from left to right on the stone floor. “We need to marry first, don’t we? So that we don’t sin.” 

Frollo hesitated, his frown smoothing away, and Esmeralda almost let out a sigh of relief as his grip on her loosened. He shook his head, however, and her breath hitched as he placed his palm on her low back and shoved their lower bodies together. A hardness pressed into her belly, and she fought back a blush. 

“A formality,” he said decisively. “We are already bound together in spirit. The archdeacon can marry us tomorrow.”

“But, what about…” she felt desperate. The realization of what was about to happen made the shadows in the room seem to grow, overtaking her free spirit, like ink spreading over pure white parchment. 

“No need to resist anymore, my dear.” He gave her a lascivious smile, crowding her so that she sank to the bed, and he soon followed, sitting hip to hip.

Esmeralda cringed, feelings of disgust churning with despair as he leaned closer, hooded eyes sweeping over her body. One hand curled around her waist and the other knotted into her hair at the base of her skull. The angle was awkward, as she was still bound to the footboard, but he was pulling her in the other direction. 

“Eventually, you’re going to need to let me go,” she told him, doing her best to avoid eye contact. There was something in his gaze that went beyond simple lust. She knew she was attractive and had been on the receiving end of countless sleazy looks, and she also understood that the Judge wanted her body. But there was a fervor there, something ablaze in his eyes that gave her the unnerving fear that she might disintegrate if she got too close. It reminded her of the most desperately starved gypsies who first stumble upon the Court of Miracles, finally offered a bit of bread or soup after days or weeks of nothing. Or those zealous worshippers who fall to their knees in rapture over their God. Starved, consumed, passionate and obsessed. As if slaking his need with her body would never be enough.

Frollo chuckled lowly, as if he were humoring a child, and Esmeralda bristled. “Whatever for? I know how your kind _think._”

She tugged at her binding and gritted her teeth, ignoring the way his fingers explored her form. “Funny, I didn’t realize you believed we thought much at all.” 

He pulled her sharply to his chest, and Esmeralda yelped. The angle was even more uncomfortable; his body burning her skin while her arms stretched out to the left. His lips moved close to her ear. “Oh, I believe you are quite clever and cunning. Rest assured that if anything were to happen to me, some of your precious gypsy friends will meet a most unfortunate end. Understood?”

Esmeralda’s lips formed a thin line. She had ruminated on ways to escape, and most of them did include finding a way to knock out Frollo or even kill him if she had to. Now she realized that finding out where her kind was being held took first priority so they would be able to escape with her. He had gone mad! Burning down Paris just to find her. Who knew what he was capable of if she managed to slip away from him again? 

“Ah,” he said softly. His finger gripped the sides of her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “I see that you do. Good.” He raised an eyebrow, and pulled out a knife. Frollo smiled maliciously when she shrank away, and he leaned closer, pressing the blade to the rope attached to the footboard. A quick snap, and the taut pressure on her arms released. She looked down, noting that the knot still cinched her wrists. She offered her hands up to Frollo, secretly hoping he would comply without question, but her shoulders sank in disappointment when he laughed again. 

“I know that my soon to be wife has quite the temper. I’d rather keep your hands bound for now.” A hand crept up, circling her ribs, and she shifted with discomfort. 

They both watched, Esmeralda with dread, Frollo with a smirk, as the knife traveled down her chest, catching at the bodice. The material was thin, tearing easily. Her breasts spilled out, and the cold air made her nipples tighten. Esmeralda reflexively covered them, but Frollo pulled her hands down.

“None of that, my dear.” He hooked a hand under her arm and fell back on the bed, pulling her with him. She was partly draped across his chest, legs tangled with Frollo’s, arms pressed to his side. The top of her breasts bulged as they pressed against him. 

Esmeralda stilled, not wanting her sensitive nipples to graze against Frollo’s clothing again. This was something she would endure, the very thought of getting any kind of enjoyment with this _monster_ was inconceivable. He was aged, unattractive, cruel, dark-hearted, ruthless against her people…

Her mind went blank as he kissed her again. She always imagined him to be as frigid as ice, but his lips seared her skin. He trailed kisses down her throat to the sensitive curve of her neck and clavicle. Each spot burned, tingled. She shivered. 

He shifted them so they were side by side, facing each other, and Frollo ripped through her front. Now he could see everything, the remainders of the frock hanging in tatters at her arms. He stared in rapt attention, and Esmeralda looked away, embarrassed. Despite her flirtatious nature and sensual dancing, she was fairly inexperienced with men. There was that evening with the fire performer, when they had kissed in a drunken passion and she had shoved him away when he tried to drop his pants. Now that she thought of it, no man had ever seen her fully nude before. She had thought maybe with Phoebus...her bound hands moved to cover herself, but he pulled them away. 

“None of that,” he scolded with a leer. “You belong to me now, gypsy witch. Mind, soul, body. Don’t resist.” 

Her eyes slid shut. “Am I...will you take your clothing off, too?” Not that she wanted to see him naked, but the thought of being the only one bare made her feel vulnerable. 

“If the mood strikes.” He added dryly, “probably not.”

Esmeralda had a vision of a naked Frollo pinning her down, hot skin sliding together. She should feel relieved, perhaps, that he didn’t want that. But it just made their dichotomy of power more apparent. She was nothing more than a prisoner. A sex slave.

The knot, she could eventually unravel or tear. Her true binding was invisible. 

Frollo pulled her close and kissed her passionately, crushing their lips together. His tongue slid in, unabashedly exploring her mouth. She couldn’t help but compare this kiss with the one she had just a few hours before. Phoebus had been gentle, and would no doubt have been a caring lover. Theirs had been slow and deep. This one...it was as if Frollo had caught fire, an inferno that spread to Esmeralda, smoldering under her skin. She could taste ash in her mouth, but at the same time, her toes curled. Moisture collected at the crux of her thighs, and she squeezed her legs together. 

Why was her body reacting this way? It wasn’t fair! 

Frollo smiled, and Esmeralda cringed, her breath catching at the crazed fervor she saw in his eyes. Yes, this went beyond lust or even love. Frollo seemed obsessed with her. 

“All mine,” he murmured with rapture, planting kisses across her shoulders and up her neck, circling her crown. “Mine for the taking, mine to hold. I’ll never let you out of my sight.”

Her entire body tensed, his words winding her up like a wire. He didn’t _really_ mean he would never leave her alone, did he?

He took her mouth again, and she tried valiantly to passively accept the onslaught, even as her fingers itched to push him away again. She couldn’t believe this _monster_ was touching her. His hands wandered over her form, cupping and caressing her ample bosom, squeezing them experimentally. Esmeralda inhaled sharply when he pinched her nipple, twisting it as he pawed at the other breast. He pulled back, looking at her in wonder before his expression grew sinister. He pinched both nipples, and Esmeralda gasped this time, felt a hot spike of both shame and pleasure course through her. 

“You are perfection incarnate,” he whispered in reverence, the bright light in his eyes making Esmeralda’s blood run cold. It reminded her of insanity, but the methodical and deliberate way he had planned her capture and surrender could only mean that his mind was sound. “You are a divine creature, etched without the ugliness or flaws of any mortal.”

She would have laughed if she wasn’t so terrified. Frollo, calling her divine and perfection after ridiculing her as a gypsy sinner and scum? Maybe the man had gone mad. 

He sucked under the curve of her breast before clumsily finding her nipple with his mouth. She felt his tongue lave over it, heightening her sensitivity until she moaned. It was embarrassing, but she couldn’t help it! Frollo was relentless. She expected him to laugh or mock her, but he seemed completely absorbed in his ministrations. Time slowed down, the pleasure spreading across her spine, and Esmeralda wondered if he wound spend the entire night on her breasts, as fascinated as he seemed to be. First one, then the other, licking and sucking and nipping until she wondered if she would bruise. 

Her moans grew louder, and she shut her eyes, as if that might block out the embarrassment of her reaction. Why couldn’t she control herself? She wasn’t even attracted to Frollo! But he was making her feel things she didn’t think possible. Esmeralda knew that sex felt good from the stories she had heard, but she had no idea it could feel like _this._

A sensual hand slid between her legs as she was distracted. One leg slid up, and she felt something warm and hard prod her entrance. Only a lack of experience prevented her from understanding what that was. 

“What...What?” Dazed, she didn’t resist and as he thrust in. Pain sharp and bright made her scream, her entire body tensing, and she clawed at Frollo’s robes. Her hips rocked back to escape the assault, but somehow that helped him sink deeper, her shameful reaction slicking the way. He let out a low, loud moan, and she felt tremors run through his body. He tucked his head against her shoulder. Esmeralda trembled, too, but from pain. He didn’t seem to fit; she could feel him pulse inside her. 

Harsh breathing close to her ear. She wasn’t sure if he was too wrecked to move or if he was giving her time to adjust, but she was grateful that he was still. Eventually, the pain ebbed to an uncomfortable burn. Frollo’s rocked forward again, tiny movements, panting like he had ran around the entire Notre Dame in one sprint. Each push forward was punctuated by a small groan. If she tried to shift her hips away, he chased them with a thrust that pinned her to the bed. 

Suddenly, he lifted his body up, confusing Esmeralda again. Then she realized what he was doing. Staring over her nude frame, and looking at where his cock penetrated her core. The hypocrisy of a supposedly pious man reveling in their joining should have been disgusting or farcical, but Esmeralda felt her skin burn, and she began to sweat. The fullness no longer felt so uncomfortable, and sparks were spreading through her core, up her belly and throat. Feeling helpless, she tugged at her bound wrists. 

Wiry hands grabbed her knees and pressed them up, closer to her shoulders. Frollo sank in and out of her slowly. Her muscles were stretched, and as Frollo pressed his weight down on her knees she couldn’t move. The pain was almost completely gone now, replaced with a burgeoning pleasure. Frollo’s skin was like fire that was catching everywhere he touched. His cocked scorched Esmeralda as it slid in and out. 

“Ah, Esmeralda,” he moaned, “you feel exquisite.” His mouth descended on hers again and devoured her. His tongue explored her mouth and his pace grew faster, pinning her thighs up and open, making the bed bounce with his thrusts. 

The sensation was overwhelming. A whimpered escaped her, and he swallowed it, sucking on her tongue with obvious delight. She felt her uterus twitch around him. 

He sped up, punctuating each push of his hips with a sharp thrust. She moaned into the kiss. Like this, Esmeralda could almost forget who he was, what she was doing with him. That she was making love with a seasoned lover, not getting fucked by a man who tracked her down like prey. He ruined that illusion when he broke away from the kiss, whispering into her ear, “my Esmeralda, my sweet. You feel so hot wrapped around me, so wet.” 

She wrinkled her nose, but he chased away all thought by sucking at the pulse of her throat while plunging into her. Her low back arched, and pleasure she’d never experienced before made her cry out, echoing off the stone walls. “That’s it my dear, ma moitié,” he groaned. He thrust forward one last time and stilled, and she felt him throb inside her. His hands, now tangled in her hair, tugged her scalp. 

Without pulling out, Frollo collapsed on top of her, trapping her in an uncomfortable position with her knees pressed close to her shoulders. Esmeralda was admittedly flexible from years of dancing, but her insides already ached, and he was surprisingly heavy for such a lithe man. Her bound hands were also trapped between her breasts. Her heart pounded, and they breathed in sync, filling the dark silence of the room.

Esmeralda felt completely divided. A part of her wanted to leverage her hands and thighs to shove him off, maybe insult or even hit him now that his defenses were down. Another part wanted to curl in a ball and cry; her chest burned, her throat tightened for the want of it. He had split her down the middle, dividing her between her fierce desire for justice and her vulnerable kindness and pain.

Finally, she settled for, “you’re heavy, and I can’t breathe. Can you…?”

Surprisingly, he responded immediately, shifting away from her into a sitting position. He looked at her, his expression severe. His eyes were wide and unblinking, a strange mix of fearful awe and dark possessiveness. Like he wanted to push her away but also control her. The intensity there sent sparks of both dread and excitement up her spine, confusing her.

They stared at one another for a long moment, and Esmeralda felt the same flutter of fear in her stomach as when he held the fire so close to the pyre, ready to set her aflame. Frollo’s eyes burned with something she couldn’t understand, and it frightened her that he wouldn’t speak. Would he kill her after all, now that he had gotten what he wanted from her? 

“Maria, save me from this gypsy whore…” he muttered, his fingers clawing at the sheets. 

Esmeralda’s reaction was immediate, she couldn’t help it. “You think I’m a _whore?_ Didn’t you just find out for yourself that I’m anything but?!” Obnoxious men jeering at her in the streets she was accustomed to, but the audacity of this man taking her virginity and then calling her a whore just a minute later was too much. 

His mouth worked, clearly flustered, until he scowled and stormed off, discreetly tucking himself back in his robes as he fled the room. The door slammed, and she was alone. Her core still throbbed and she felt sticky. The flimsy garments she had worn were in shreds, tatters still clinging to her shoulders, her body exposed. 

Anxiety roiled within her. She had fulfilled her end of the bargain, but what if he still hurt her people? He had proven himself to be untrustworthy. Still, deep within, Esmeralda knew. How desperately he wanted her, not just in body but in soul. The lengths he went to acquire her told her that he had no intention of letting her go so easily, even to death. He called her a witch and sorceress, but he was the one who acted possessed. 

Esmeralda flex her arms forward and rested them on her lower body. Finally, the events of the last few days, being on the run, almost getting set on fire, and then being forced to have sex with a man who fiercely hated her and her people finally got to her. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes, sliding down her cheeks to the bed. She cried with quiet sobs, her vision clouding over. 

The door banged open, and she cringed, reflexively pulling her hands close to her chest again. Frollo loomed over her, his face set in a formidable scowl, and grabbed the rope cinching her wrists. She bit back a squeal as he dragged her up from the bed. Bare feet touched the cold stone floor. 

“Open your hands,” he demanded, and Esmeralda uncurled her fingers. Carefully, he slid a gold ring on her fourth finger. She stared. The band being snugly pushed into place made her feel like chains settling on her limbs, trapping her, enslaving her.

“I...thought maybe…” More tears dripping down to her chin. She thought he might kill her instead of marry her, and maybe that would have been better. She hated that a part of her had enjoyed what he had done, that the dark intensity in his gaze both repulsed and thrilled her.

He stared, cupping her face gently with a tenderness she didn’t think he was capable of. A thumb rubbed back and forth, as if he were trying to stroke the tears away. 

“I know that this may not have been...what you expected,” he said methodically, and ignored her snort of derision. “But I can promise you, gyps—,” he faltered, then, “my wife. That I will take care of you. You will never know hunger, or be forced to flaunt your body for coin. I will never hurt you…”

“You just hurt me!” Esmeralda replied, stamping her foot instead of slapping him. Oh, how tempting. “And I liked dancing! You can’t take that from me…”

Fury eclipsed Frollo’s stoic features, and Esmerada gasped when he gripped tightened on her face, his thumb digging into her cheek. He took a breath, and she stared in fascination as his figure trembled, trying to master his emotions behind a cold facade. “That wasn’t a question, _my wife._ I forbid you to dance. That isn’t proper for a minister’s wife.” His gaze swept down her nude form, and Esmeralda fought a blush. “At least, not publicly.”

The spike of anger folded quickly into waves of grief. Tears sprang anew. “Why me, Frollo? You’ve always known who I am. You can’t change that. You could have just found a woman who was everything you claim is better than me. A Christian, pious, obedient…” The unspoken matter of her race hung between them, like a dark stain. 

Frollo waived his hand dismissively. “Those are all things you will become. I promised you redemption, an opportunity to save your soul.” 

Esmeralda glared at him, frustrated. As if she was the one that needed saving! “I don’t care about that! I agreed to your depraved demand to protect my friends!” 

Apparently, anger won out for Frollo, too. His features twisted, and he pulled her to him, staring deeply into her eyes. She shivered. 

“You are mine!” he hissed. “Mine!” He shook her shoulders. “You’ve worked your way into my mind, driving me mad! I am tormented by sin because of you! You are _hellfire!_” Esmeralda looked away, wincing. “I will never let you go! Never! You will either follow me to salvation...or drag me down into hell!” Eyes blazing, voice echoing in the mostly empty room, Esmeralda braced herself for a blow that never came. She couldn’t breathe.

A palpable, pregnant moment, Esmeralda feeling vulnerable in her nudity, with Frollo leaning into her, bending her in a way that she would fall over if he didn’t have a painful grip on her waist and shoulder. Then, he slowly stood erect, his expression blank, but also carefully pulled her forward so that she was no longer close to toppling to the floor. 

“And...I, of course, will comfort and protect you, in sickness and in health, as is my responsibility. As your husband.” He cleared his throat.

Esmeralda couldn’t help it; her mouth dropped open. Was he serious? She couldn’t believe him after the way he looked at her, spoke to her...her eyes darted to the bed...ravished her. He didn’t seem to view her as a person with feelings. 

“Please, my….wife. Do not resist. Submit.” His hand cupped her cheek. And Esmeralda saw it again, that fierce passion in his eyes. That same unfamiliar heat, excitement churning with fear, spread from her chest. “I would prefer that this be...pleasant for the both of us.”

And perhaps that would be the best choice, after all. She had told him yes. She could have chosen death. 

Without waiting for an answer, his eyes blazing anew, he slowly moved forward, backing her against the edge of the bed, until she fell back. And he followed. 

And who was the true source of hellfire, Esmeralda wondered in a haze of delirious heat as his mouth explored every inch of her, from the hollow of her throat to the curve of her breasts down to her most sensitive, intimate parts. Who was the true source of hellfire, when he was the one who consumed her, like an unbridled flame, eating away at her sense of self until she couldn’t tell the two of them apart? And she trembled, dread and desire burning bright, indistinguishable, as he took her again with relish.


End file.
